


What's Happening Brother

by feverishsea



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-05-02
Packaged: 2018-01-21 02:41:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1534613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feverishsea/pseuds/feverishsea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve might be the hero of the story and he might not need to be saved, but it sure is nice to have someone offer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

So this asshole keeps lapping him across all the major national monuments, and it’s Captain America.

The first time Sam meets Steve, he’s already figured out the whole American hero deal; already had time to internally fanboy and warn himself to be cool. Maybe that’s why he’s able to look past it the first time they really meet; why Sam looks at the big blond guy holding out a hand and then pulling it back (metaphorically and literally) and sees a man, not an icon. Or maybe it always would have been that way, because the carefully controlled tension in Steve’s face is too familiar to miss, and it’s always been hard for Sam to control that instinctive urge to help someone in need of it.

Anyway, he gets drawn in. Of course he does. What the hell else do you do when Captain fucking America shows up at your door with that icy-hot chick who drives the amazing car you still haven’t forgotten, hell no you have not. That car was great. Sam still debates about asking Natasha to let him drive it, but she’s got bigger concerns right now, so he always puts it aside.

One thing leads to another and then Sam’s saying, “When do we start?” like he can just say that, like he doesn’t have a life, or any other responsibilities.

It’s just that this poor bastard, for all he’s a bonafide hero, can never catch a damn break. Sam thought if he just held out a hand, if he just gave him a place to recover, if he just got him to safety, if he just put on the armor he’s been having nightmares about for years, if he just helped him complete the mission… But it’s bigger than that; was more difficult than that even before the long-haired emo fucker showed up and Steve’s quiet smile shattered.

“You don’t have to do this,” Steve tells him, and Sam wouldn’t - as far as he’s concerned the Winter Soldier is just a man responsible for hundreds if not thousands of deaths, and even if you can atone for that, Sam really doesn’t want to be a part of it - if it wasn’t for the way that Steve’s barely protesting. Steve says the line thin and weak, and then doesn’t say anything else, because he’s too scared Sam will take him up on it. There are people who care about him, Sam knows it because he knows that at least Natasha cares, but all those other people seem to be busy at the moment. Steve needs someone now.

So after Sam says what he needs to, he adds, “Is this like, a moving on out tomorrow thing, or a doing research first thing? Cause I gotta tell you, I’ve got no idea where he’s gone.”

“Oh jeez, I don’t even know.” Steve rubs a big hand over his face, his little touch of bangs spilling between the gaps in his fingers. “Research, I think. We’ll have to. I don’t know where he’d go either. I mean, Nat said he uses Russian weapons, so maybe… but… I don’t know.”

Steve brings his other hand up and drops his face into both of them, and Sam thinks that if there’s a limit on serious talk, they’ve reached it for the night.

“Hey,” he says, voice purposefully light enough that Steve looks at him again, “you still need a place to stay? American hero or not I get the bed, but I have a pretty comfortable couch.”

“Well, I have…” Steve pauses, blinks, and swallows. “Um, yeah, the sofa’s fine. It’s great. Thanks.”

The crooked remnants of what was probably at one point a pretty convincing aw-shucks pretty boy smile isn’t enough to make Sam forget that pause, but he smiles back and brings Steve home anyway.

They’re too tired to be awkward that first night; Sam tries to hide the fact that his hand’s shaking when he gives Steve a blanket and instead of apologizing, Steve smiles and offers to carry Sam to bed. He’s a grown-ass man and it’s a dumb joke, but Sam’s cheeks still heat a little when he tells Steve off and watches him head to the sofa laughing.

He’s not nearly rested enough the next morning, but he gets up and gets dressed anyway, and nearly has a heart attack when Steve wanders into the kitchen shirtless.

“Oh, you’re up. Where you going?” Steve asks, yawning. 

Sam raises an eyebrow. “To work?” He tries not to stare. Ever since the obligatory drunken kiss-and-a-little-extra in college he’s always been straight, but come on, Steve is literally the pinnacle of male perfection. It’s… well, it’s something. It must be cold in the apartment, because Steve’s nipples are hard.

Shit.

“What are you going to do all day?” Sam blurts out before his thoughts can continue in unsafe directions. This is beyond not happening. He's straight, Steve's lonely, and the poor guy's messed up enough as it is. Sam would never forgive himself if he was the one to finally break Steve Rogers.

He asks kind of loud and Steve shrinks back, which is weird to watch. “Um… I was going to go to the library but I’ll… I can do laundry? Or clean dishes? No, your dishes are already clean. But I can, you know, do stuff. I won't be a burden.”

Then Sam forgets all about Steve’s nipples (thankfully), because Steve looks cautious and wary and fragile, which doesn't look as out of place on him as it should.

“Hey, you do whatever you want,” Sam says, and slaps Steve on the shoulder. He’s half-afraid that this will make Steve pull back more, but Steve almost leans into it; definitely steps forward and smiles a little, looking hopeful. “Just let me know if you’re gonna go out with friends, okay? I’m making tacos tonight.”

“I don’t have friends to go out with,” Steve says, and Sam rolls his eyes at the dramatics before snatching his keys and heading out.

It turns out Steve isn’t wrong, though - every night when Sam gets back Steve is there, looking like he’s trying to look like he’s not waiting, like there’s no pressure.

Sam does have friends that he goes out with, but as the weeks pass he mostly stops seeing them. He knows it’s a bad idea, but it’s hard when he discovers that Steve is so desperate for any kind of friendship or affection, and so desperate not to pressure Sam to stick around. 

They talk over dinner, and Sam expected Steve to be reticent for some reason, but he’s not - all Sam has to do is ask and story after story from the past comes spilling out. Some of their conversations are just about things that have changed, like the food people eat (apparently modern-day bananas are an abomination unto God and Sam never wants to have that conversation again), but some of them are quieter, full of the tiny details that add up to the sum of a person, so that Sam can picture this kind, strong, fast-talker the Winter Soldier used to be.

He’s surprised to find out that Steve has seen War Games.

“Yeah,” Steve says, clasping his hands together under his chin and looking wistful. “I’d never seen a movie alone until I woke up in the 21st century. Movies used to be something you did together.”

Sam’s getting used to the sensation of his heart twisting.

“Well, people do that now, but we can watch them together, too. C’mon, what do you like? No, you know what? I know what you’ll like; you'll like arthouse shit. Let’s invade your bedroom, time for movie night.”

Sam turns on _Amelie_ and they settle on the couch a comfortable distance apart with a bowl of popcorn in the middle. He keeps an eye on Steve, the way you do when you want someone to have the right reactions to a movie you like, and he’s surprised when Steve doesn’t seem to have settled down a half hour into the movie. Instead of being absorbed in the film and downing popcorn, Steve’s sitting ramrod straight and flicking occasional glances at Sam.

It isn’t until Steve picks up the bowl of popcorn and kind of hugs it to his chest that Sam gets it.

“Hey, quit hogging my popcorn!” Sam says and before Steve can do anything but give him a startled look, he hurls himself across the space between them and gets all up in Steve’s business. He shoves his weight against Steve and pretends to grapple for the bowl. Steve’s barely hanging onto the thing so he has to pretend pretty hard until Steve gets it, gives one of those sudden belly-deep laughs of his, and starts pushing back in earnest, pulling the bowl up and holding it to his shoulder like a football.

Sam finds himself knocked flat on his back and Steve hovering over him, holding him down with just one hand. They stare at each other for a second, grinning and panting, until Sam realizes that fuck, apparently being held down like it’s nothing is a turn-on for him. Who knew?

“Alright, alright, you win,” Sam sighs dramatically, and Steve lets him scramble up. They watch the rest of the movie with Sam leaning against Steve’s shoulder, and though Steve smiles through the rest of the movie and that was the goal, Sam isn’t really sure who he’s doing this for.

But Steve’s not wrong. People really _don’t_ seem to want to hang out with him; Sam not-so-accidentally overhears a couple conversations with neighbors that are quickly aborted by excuses of laundry or appointments or showers. He watches Steve’s shoulders slump and his heart aches for the guy. Sam doesn’t understand it; he’s sure as hell met people with less problems than Steve, but he’s never met anyone kinder or more earnest.

Sam knows people. He understands people; he understands himself. So this thing he can’t understand about Steve gets under his skin, enough so that when Gwen asks him over coffee, “Hey, I’ve been wondering… do you know Captain America?”, he tells her about it.

As he talks Gwen stirs her black coffee absentmindedly, and Sam thinks about how he’s been advised not to socialize with the people he counsels. There’s good reasons not to mix business with pleasure, but when Sam can reassure someone they’re not alone just by getting a drink sometimes, he knows he’ll keep doing it.

When he finishes, Gwen says, “It doesn’t really surprise me that people are intimidated by him. I mean, think about it, Mi- Sam. He’s not just a hero, he’s like, the ultimate Boy Scout. It’s like hanging out with the Pope. It’s cool for a half hour, but any more than that and you start to worry they’re gonna see who you really are.”

Sam frowns. “He’s not like that, though. And anyway, we’ve all got problems. Even him.”

“Probably,” Gwen says, “but we'll all judge ourselves by him anyway. Takes someone like you to live up to that.” She sips at her coffee.

Sam shakes his head.

“Someday you are going to realize I’m not at all perfect and be very disappointed,” he tells her.

Gwen just smiles. “I don’t think you’re perfect, but your bottom line is up above the rest of our highest ground.”

Sam blinks.

He gestures at her with his cup. “That’s awkward. I hope you know that’s awkward. See, this, this is why you have no game, do not use that line on anyone.”

Then Gwen laughs hard enough to snort her coffee, and for a little while Sam forgets about Steve Rogers and his messy damn hair and his smile that’s always a little bit sad.

Maybe he likes forgetting - not because he doesn’t like Steve, but because that messy hair and those determined eyes and that sad smile are all tangled in his head, like a knot he can't get loose - because he stays out kind of late that night; when Gwen goes home he calls up a buddy, who’s surprised but delighted to hear that Sam wants to get a drink. They go to a bar and then see a friend at another bar, and by the time he stumbles in the door to his apartment it’s 2AM.

Seems like the first thing he sees is Steve sleeping on the sofa, no blanket over him, still fully clothed. His heart twists. Did Steve wait up for him; fall asleep still waiting? Sam fumbles for his phone and there’s no missed calls, but then, Steve doesn’t like to push. Not even when Sam wouldn’t mind it.

His footsteps seem overloud in his own ears as he walks to the closet and pulls out a blanket. Every few seconds he glances back at the couch, but Steve doesn’t wake up.

Sam thinks he’s done pretty good until he settles the blanket over Steve and there’s a tired groan.

He opens his mouth to apologize when Steve blinks sleepy blue eyes open and reaches out. There’s a split second where Sam braces himself for you-startled-Captain-America-awake pain, but then fingers curl around his wrist, shooting heat into his skin like a brand, and Steve _smiles_ , just this little tired smile but with no pain in it, nothing behind it at all, everything clean and clear on the surface.

His heart kicks in his chest. He tells himself Steve’s still dreaming, probably about the founder of SHIELD or Natasha or hell, about the damned Winter Soldier.

He tells himself that until Steve tilts his head up with that smile and just says, “Sam.”

Shit.


	2. Mercy, Mercy Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody will really talk to him. Sincerity's gone out of fashion. Steve knows he's always been a bit of a square, too solemn and too earnest even in his own time, but here it seems to actively set people on edge. All the meaningful stuff is couched in jokes and posturing like nobody cares about anything, and Steve doesn't speak this language well enough to follow. One time when he tries to talk to tell Tony that he reminds Steve of Bucky in an effort to be honest and mend fences, Tony gives him a wide-eyed sideways look and says, "Whoa there Capsicle, you can either tell the truth or look earnest, but you can't do both at once, it's too much." Tony's kind of an ass in general and Steve knows he was (sort of) joking, but still, Steve thinks about that sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys seemed interested, so here it is, chapter two! And there's definitely at least one more, probably two more chapters after this - Steve needs some time to work up to 21st century love :D

Steve tries not to let himself get bogged down in the constant barrage of  _new names new places new words new customs new new new new new_ that is the 21st century. He doesn’t want to be a Grandpa that can’t get with the times. He was young when he died (because to hell with the euphemisms, it is what it is); there’s no reason he shouldn’t be able to adapt.

But life here is different than everything he’s ever known, and sometimes the weight of that crushes down on him so that he can barely breathe. His enhanced lungs cramp like he has asthma again, and he tries not to panic, reminds himself that he’s adapted before, he can adapt again.

He meets so many strange people and sees so many incredible things that the impossible barely phases him anymore. Howard Stark’s son is running around with a chip on his shoulder that’s somehow twice the size of the one his old man had. The civil rights movement isn’t just a steady underground heartbeat anymore; it’s expanded wider than Steve could have imagined in such a relatively short amount of time, and its scope is so broad now that he doesn’t completely understand all of it. LGBT? What’s the T? There’s a literal Norse God that visits his human girlfriend and stops by to say hi to Steve when he remembers. Catholic services are spoken in English now, not Latin. Steve isn’t sure he ever really trusted the military leadership even back when the lines of battle were more cut and drawn, but he doesn’t know what to do about Nick Fury, who knows Steve doesn’t trust him and doesn’t care.

Nobody will really  _talk_ to him. Sincerity's gone out of fashion. Steve knows he's always been a bit of a square, too solemn and too earnest even in his own time, but here it seems to actively set people on edge. All the meaningful stuff is couched in jokes and posturing like nobody cares about anything, and Steve doesn't speak this language well enough to follow. One time when he tries to talk to tell Tony that he reminds Steve of Bucky in an effort to be honest and mend fences, Tony gives him a wide-eyed sideways look and says, "Whoa there Capsicle, you can either tell the truth or look earnest, but you can't do both at once, it's too much." Tony's kind of an ass in general and Steve knows he was (sort of) joking, but still, Steve thinks about that sometimes.

The first guy who reaches out a hand on his own, without some organization backing him up, is just a guy running around the Mall. Steve says, "On your left," the way he always does, and is so surprised the first time the guy says something back that he almost stops running.

It quickly becomes a Thing. Steve doesn't even try to make himself back off. He runs and then he sprints, lapping the guy for the sheer joy of being heard.

He knows the man's alright before he asks, but it's an excuse for an intro, and Sam smiles and sets him at ease, reaches out to Steve like it's nothing. When they clasp hands Steve realizes he can't remember the last time someone touched him outside of work.

Realistically they barely know each other, but Sam fights like a wounded tiger, and in the middle of battle Steve has to keep pushing away at the thought  _that's for me_.

Stark offers Steve all of the near-infinite resources at his disposal to help find Bucky. Sam offers himself.

Steve only takes one offer.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining," Sam says, flipping pancakes over with an easy flick of his wrist. Steve watches the movement and for the first time in a long while, thinks about drawing. "I just want to know a little more about the guy since he's that important to you."

"Well, he's... strong, as strong as me now," Steve says slowly. He tries not to picture Bucky's blank face and metal arm, alien new parts of the man he knew like a brother. "You know what he looks like. He's right-handed, his hair used to be short, he..."

Sam shakes his head and turns off the burner. "Naw, not like that. I mean, what was he like? Tell me what you're missing."

It's the question Stark would never ask, and the question Steve needs to hear.

"He's family," Steve says. He folds his hands together and leans on the counter, tentatively reaching out toward the past, insulated by Sam's solid presence at his side. "All my life he was there for me, with me in everything. He never pitied me, and back then I merited pity."

"Bet you hated that," Sam says with a quick smile, setting the pan aside.

Steve grins back. "Oh yeah. Sometimes I was a little bastard about it, too. This one time Bucky and I..."

***

People keep recommending him things. Steve knows Sherlock - people liked adapting it back in his day too - so he goes ahead and watches the first season of the show.

He's so completely absorbed in the end of the third episode that he misses it when Sam comes home, and flinches hard when Sam calls out, "Enjoying it?"

Sam pauses a second, says carefully, "I'll take that as a no," and comes closer, which Steve doesn't know how to acknowledge but is endlessly grateful for.

"It's... um... I..." Sam drops down on the sofa next to him, not bothering to hide the concern on his face, and Steve fights the urge to move closer as he grapples for the words.

"Did something in the show remind you of being back there?" Sam asks. He makes his directness look so easy, when Steve knows firsthand it's anything but.

He shakes his head. "No, not - nothing like that." A sharply gray-toned London flits by, clean and empty and full of edges.

"I just... That guy's the hero?"

Sam blinks and then smiles a little. "Think he's what you call an anti-hero, actually. He's a jerk, but he does the right thing; something like that."

"How does he do the right thing?" Steve argues, because suddenly this is very important to him. "What's the point of catching killers if all you do is hurt the people you're supposed to care about? He's not better than them, just because he's smart. And he's the hero? I can't - I can't do this."

"Hey, breathe," Sam says, close enough to his ear that Steve jumps. An arm settles around his shoulders. Steve realizes that he is breathing too fast, his thoughts jumbling together in a gray-toned blur. He feels stupid for letting himself get so bent out of shape about something so small, but...

"I don't want to live in a world where that guy's the hero." Steve turns his head and mumbles it into Sam's neck. Sam smells like something spicy-sweet, warm like the rest of him.

A chuckle rumbles through Sam and into Steve.

"So don't be that guy," Sam says, and when Steve tries to pull away to protest, Sam doesn't let him go.

***

Sometimes when he should be searching for Bucky his fingers will get lost on the keyboard and he’ll start researching other things instead. That’s how he winds up on the Youtube watching a film about cults. “He gave me something to believe in,” a woman weeps on camera, and people have told him all about how fake television is, but this seems real. “All I had to do was listen to him, and he promised me Heaven.”

There’s something uncomfortably close to home in those words, and before Steve can stop himself he’s clicked out of the window and shut the computer off.

Back in the day, Bucky would have had words about anyone fool enough to fall for that sort of trap. Nowadays, Tony Stark would say them too. But for some reason it’s Sam’s words that echo in his head: “I’m taking orders from just one person these days - me. That’s a good feeling.”

Bucky and Stark have sharp tongues, and Steve can’t imagine broaching the subject with either of them in his current state of mind. But that night when he tentatively brings it up to Sam, he watches Sam frown and fold his fingers together.

“There’s nothing wrong with taking orders, you know,” Sam says with one of those easy smiles that Steve wishes he could imitate. “Some people don’t trust themselves to be the one making the judgment calls. That’s okay.”

Steve thinks of Hawkeye’s steady hand, and Nat’s tight-lipped face watching Fury on the stretcher.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, wishing he had the courage to say this without ducking his head, “but what if everyone acts like you’re this big leader, but you’ve just been taking orders the whole time?”

Sam pauses and the silence stretches out long enough that Steve peeks up through his bangs.

“Do we have to keep acting like this is hypothetical?” Sam asks, looking pained.

Despite himself Steve laughs, and he’s not sure why, but that makes Sam get up from his chair and come perch on the arm of the sofa, his hip brushing Steve’s shoulder. It’s warm and comfortable, and Steve’s tempted to just lean into Sam’s side, but he thinks that’s probably out of bounds. He’s not sure. He’s never sure of anything anymore, but that worries him less around Sam.

“Life isn’t a Meyers-Briggs test, okay?” Sam says, bracing himself with a hand on the back of the sofa just behind Steve’s head. “You can be a leader at some times and not others. You don’t have to be heading the Charge of the Light Brigade every time you go out in the field just to know you can lead people. And that’s all leadership is; being able to lead people when it’s necessary. There’s this quote by Patton – oh, maybe you weren’t around for that. Anyway, big time general, said lead me, follow me, or get out of my way.”

“Hmm,” Steve says, honestly more preoccupied by the warmth radiating against his side than with Sam’s words.

Gentle fingers scuff through his hair. “Hey, listen to me, pretty boy.” It’s not the first time Steve’s heard those words by a long shot, but coming from Sam, they don’t rankle. “I’ve seen you out there firsthand. Don’t worry, you can lead. And you can probably follow. That’s cool. It’s all good.”

“Okay,” Steve agrees, eyes drooping. He’s not sure when it hit him, but he’s so tired. Ever since he first woke up he's been on edge, watching his back. He's had to be. He woke up alone in a brave new world (he gets that reference now, thanks) without his wingman; without even a single friend.

As he lists towards Sam's side and feels a hand steady him, some of that weight slips from his shoulders. Things aren't the same anymore, but if Sam sticks around, Steve thinks maybe he'll be alright. Sam's solid and sure; a compass always pointing north. With Sam to judge his bearings by, Steve feels like he doesn't have to be so afraid of losing himself anymore. He'll find his way back.


	3. I Bet You Wonder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Yeah, speaking of we, where's your other half? I heard from the Russian Terror that the two of you are doing an adorable good cop/good cop routine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This thing's getting away from me, huh? Whoops.

It's becoming increasingly clear that Steve doesn't trust Tony - maybe doesn't trust anybody - and that's making it awfully hard for Tony to help him.

 

 

"If you're in New York looking for your little serial killer friend, there's no reason not to stay here in the tower. We talked about this on the phone, Capsicle, remember? Or is the Alzheimer's getting to you?" Tony asks patiently.

 

Steve shoots him a truly venomous look and Tony fights the urge to back up. Honestly, does the guy have to be so touchy about everything? It's not Tony's fault that he's old.

 

"We don't need to impose," Steve says stiffly. When he gets tense like this he looks stern and severe and it's way too reminiscent of Howard, and Tony kind of hates him.

 

Even so, he's still Tony's childhood hero - not to mention a genuinely good guy - so Tony forces a change of subject.

 

"Yeah, speaking of we, where's your other half? I heard from the Russian Terror that the two of you are doing an adorable good cop/good cop routine."

 

Tony kicks himself as soon as he says it (why is it so hard for him to be agreeable; why can't he ever just say the right thing?) but to his surprise, Steve visibly brightens. Hell, he thinks he might actually see the start of a smile.

 

"Sam's on his way, he just stopped to say hi to his sister; she lives out here. Nat said that? We're not adorable."

 

Tony's almost too grateful to have found solid ground to note how interesting this is - _almost_. "I don't know, you sound pretty adorable," he teases, mentally skimming over what he knows about Sam Wilson. Ex-pilot (of sorts), ENFP type of guy, possibly even more of a Captain America sucker than Tony himself.

 

"Give me a break," Steve says, but now he really is smiling. It's small, but it's the first honest smile Tony's seen from him.

 

The man he used to daydream about going on adventures with is finally smiling at him. Tony can't help beaming back. He feels terrible about himself for a second as Steve's smile fades into a guarded look, but then the elevator dings behind them and Steve's attention snaps away.

 

"Hey, the creepy-ass building let me in, so don't shoot," a cheerful voice says as the doors open.

 

The idea that Steve might have forgotten how to trust or smile disintegrates as a huge, honest grin breaks over Steve's face.

 

"Sam! I thought you'd take longer," Steve says. He starts to move and then stops, like he wants to go over to Sam but can't quite think of a reason.

 

Tony turns to look as broad-shouldered man with a confident walk and a face that looks used to laughter shrugs and says with a rueful grin, "I got kicked out; my sister's going on a date and didn't want big brother hanging around. In either sense."

 

"Don't think Cap's gonna get that joke," Tony says. "But I do."

 

Sam turns to Tony, looks at him for a second, and then smiles, wide and easy. He reaches out a big hand. Tony shakes it, feeling a familiar thrum of attraction, and a more recently familiar twinge of guilt, though Pepper keeps telling him it's not a crime to notice people. (Her actual words were more like, "I'll happily have a threesome with any superhero or Natasha.")

 

"Hi, I'm Tony Stark," he says, and he swears this asshole's eyes twinkle at him. Do people even do that? This guy's more blue jeans and apple pie than Steve Rogers himself.

 

"Yeah, I kinda put the pieces together on that one," Sam says, and Steve snorts for some reason. "Sam Wilson. Pleasure to meet you. I hear you're putting us up for the night?"

 

Tony's eyebrows fly up. He looks around at Steve, who's staring into space and all but whistling. So the SOB was - what, testing him? Rather than annoyed, he's interested. Finding out the real Steve Rogers is one step forward and two steps back, and somehow that's so much more fascinating than the ramrod conservative Boy Scout of his imagination.

 

"Guess I am, though Cap didn't seem too keen on the idea," he says. He's only batting his eyelashes at Sam a little. "I'd be happy to let _you_ stay the night, though. I'll take excellent care of you."

 

He waggles his eyebrows and Sam cracks up; Tony smirks.

 

"HOW'S PEPPER," Steve says, loud enough that Tony winces.

 

"Fine, Christ, my ears. She told me to tell you she wants to take you to the MOMA sometime." Tony watches Steve sidle up next to Sam, scowling. Then Sam grins up at Steve and nudges him with his shoulder, and the scowl melts into a shy smile, and holy fucking shit, Tony needs a minute.

 

"That's nice of Pepper," Steve starts to say. Tony holds up a finger.

 

"Uh... Will you excuse me just a minute?" he says weakly. "I, um, need to make a phone call."

 

He strides out of the room and pulls out his cell. She picks up on the first ring.

 

"You treacherous asshole, you didn't tell me Captain America's in love with a guy," he says by way of hello.

 

A brief laugh echoes down the line. "No, I'm pretty sure I did tell you that," Natasha says. Holy shit.

 

Tony sucks in a breath, blows it back out, and rakes his fingers through his hair. "I was sort of hoping you'd contradict me."

 

"Why? Jealous?"

 

"Fuck you, Romanov."

 

"I have approximately zero time to waste, so..."

 

"You do too have time to waste; don't give me that. Your job got blown up."

 

She huffs out a sigh. "Okay, I have zero interest in wasting my time, how about that? Was there actually anything else or did you just want to whine about Steve being into a guy that's not you?"

 

Tony flinches. This is bullshit; he doesn't need this. Then he reconsiders. He doesn't need this, but maybe Cap does.

 

"No, I... Wait. This guy. Sam. Is he... you know... do you think he's into Rogers at all, or are we going to have to deal with a shattered Capsicle heart? I don't think he'd take that well after the whole thing with his not-dead friend."

 

Natasha pauses for long enough that Tony starts to feel sick. Then she says quietly, "You actually care about Steve. Huh."

 

"Can we not do this? I would be totally fine with not doing this."

 

She makes a noise somewhere between a cough and a laugh. "Yeah, me too. I think that Wilson's bi - there was a note in his file."

 

"SHIELD was fucking creepy. I am so glad it got blown up."

 

"Tell Pepper hi for me," Natasha says, and disconnects.

 

"Everyone likes my girlfriend better," Tony mutters as he shakes his head and walks back. He can't blame them. He likes Pepper better too.

 

Because he knows to look this time, he sees everything. Sam's talking animatedly about something trivial ("... and I told her that plane's a fucking disgrace, MY wingspan was bigger than that damn SmartCar of an aircraft...") and Steve is nodding and staring at Sam with these huge adoring puppy-dog eyes, concentrating on Sam so hard that there's a little wrinkle over his nose. It would be sickening if... well, it is sickening, but it's sweet too. If you're into that whole so-earnest-it-hurts thing.

 

Tony clears his throat. Sam breaks off and then smiles again; walks up and includes Tony in the conversation ("hey man, you know from flying suits, so get this...").

 

He likes Sam, in spite of a little undeniable jealousy. It's impossible not to like Sam. The man's handsome, smart, charming, genuine, and okay, Tony is more than a little jealous. 

 

But he does like Sam, though not as much as Steve seems to. Tony's not sure if it's just that Steve has an honest nature, but he can hardly imagine liking someone as much and as openly as Steve likes Sam. For all that one of them is a legendary hero, it's Steve who gravitates around Sam, watching Sam like the tide watching the moon.

 

Tony fights the urge to shake his head; loses. Steve makes a face at him - apparently they were having a conversation about something Tony's totally blanked on, and Tony's fairly sure he just accidentally insulted the poor guy again.

 

Sam smiles and laughs, rock-steady on solid ground that Tony's never been quite able to reach. Tony and Steve just watch him. Sam reaches out and grips Steve's wrist like he'll drag the guy to shore, and though Tony's always believed in standing on your own two feet, he thinks that if you had to pick someone to lean on, you could do much worse than Sam Wilson.

 


End file.
